


Agent of the Inquisition

by nlans



Series: Cecily Trevelyan [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Espionage, Letters, Sister-Sister Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 15:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3255068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nlans/pseuds/nlans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evelyn Trevelyan was six when her older sister Cecily was sent to the Circle. Now Cecy's the Herald of Andraste, and Evie wants to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A letter from Haven

_Dear Mother and Father,_

_I scarcely know how to start this letter. First, please know that I am safe, and that I wish I could have written to you sooner. I did not know who might want Ostwick’s mages found, and I did not want to endanger you or my siblings._

_I was present at the Conclave, and by some act of luck or providence, I was the lone survivor of the explosion that destroyed the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I now bear a mark on my hand that appears linked to the breach in the sky. I do not remember the events that led to the explosion at the Conclave, or how I received this mark, but it has successfully closed small rifts in Ferelden and may be capable of sealing the largest breach as well._

_Before her death, Divine Justinia tasked her Left and Right Hands with resurrecting the Inquisition of old, with the goal of restoring order amidst the mage-Templar war. The disaster at the Conclave has given the Inquisition a new task: closing the Breach. Sister Leliana and Seeker Cassandra, both good women, have recruited me to help to close the rift._

_You may have heard that some are calling me the Herald of Andraste. Please know that I do not claim such a title for myself. But it is clear that there cannot be peace so long as demons pour from the Fade into our world, and I believe that the Inquisition can bring an end to this crisis. I must do what I can to aid it._

_You may write to me in Haven, where the Inquisition has established its first camp. Please send whatever news you have. Was Edmund and Lyssa’s wedding everything they dreamed? What of Evie—is half of Ostwick vying for her hand yet?_

_Most of all, please let me know that you are safe._

_Love, Cecy_

 

* * *

 

Evelyn Trevelyan was six years old when her older sister Cecily was sent to the Circle.

Well, _sent_ was the wrong word. As the family later learned, Cecily had known she was a mage from the time she was eight but had carefully hidden it for years. Then when she was twelve she had a nightmare about a demon. When she woke up Cecily took a horse from the stables, rode out of the Trevelyan estate, and arrived at Knight-Commander Pierce’s door in the middle of the night demanding to be taken to the Circle. The Knight-Commander had tried to assure her that it was just a dream. Then Cecy lit his curtains on fire in panic, and that was that.

At first Evie had thought her sister’s fate exciting, even romantic. To live in a tall tower, surrounded by other mages and books on magic and Templars in their mysterious uniforms? Delightful! And Cecy would never have to marry, which was excellent, because boys were revolting! For years Evie secretly harbored the hope that she too would show magical talent so she could join her older sister in the Ostwick Circle.

By the time she was a teenager Evie was relieved rather than disappointed that no such talents had emerged. There was a rather large difference between not _having_ to marry and not being _allowed_ to marry because some people didn’t think you were entirely a person. But she still idolized her big sister and looked forward to the twice-yearly visits they were allowed—at least, until the year she turned seventeen, when Knight-Commander Pierce died and Knight-Commander Leonard sent her father a snide letter informing the Bann that mages, even Trevelyan mages, were no longer permitted to use the Circle as a receiving room for social calls.

Evie spent much of the next five years fantasizing about pushing Knight-Commander Leonard into a well. It became a recurring subject of her sketches. Her drawing master did not approve. Her mother liked them, however.

And now Cecily was the Herald of Andraste. Well.

Evie truly had no idea what to make of that, so she concentrated on the important thing. Cecy was alive and she wanted to hear from her family.

 

* * *

 

_Dear Cecy,_

_I could absolutely strangle you right now. Oh, I understand why we haven’t had letters from you, on the run and all that. But your first letter just had to mention suitors for me? Mother and Father are already focused enough on that task, thank you very much. If I have to hear the story about how their parents introduced them at a ball and “we just knew we were meant for each other and we have been ever so happy ever since” one more time, I am going to run off to Ferelden and join the Avaar. _

_Or perhaps I can join your Inquisition! I am only a passable duelist, but I am an excellent rider and a fairly good shot with a bow—I could be a messenger! I also draw rather well now that our parents have forced me to take lessons. I have enclosed a sketch of Edmund and Lyssa’s wedding. Does the Inquisition need an official portraitist?_

_You should know that Mother and Father are concerned that the Inquisition is holding you hostage. I know my big sister would not stand for that sort of nonsense, so I am not as worried as they are. But you may want to reassure them that you are in Haven of your own free will._

_Will you visit us in Ostwick when you can? I cried every day for a month when your awful new Knight-Commander told us we couldn’t see you any more. I still miss you terribly. If you can’t visit, please write._

_All my love, Evie_

_*_

_Dear Evie,_

_Your drawing made me smile. Edmund and Lyssa look so happy! I have not met Lyssa (of course)—is she a good match for our brother?_

_I am sorry this is short—I have to leave Haven again tomorrow. I have been spending much of my time in the Redcliffe area, where the fighting between mages and Templars seems to be worst, and where the demons pouring from the rifts aren’t helping either. But I miss you terribly as well. When the large Breach is sealed I ought to be able to travel to Ostwick. I would love to see all of you again. In the meantime, please continue to send letters._

_Love, your sister, Cecy_

_PS. The Inquisition is absolutely not holding me hostage, I promise you._

_PPS. I am not recruiting you to the Inquisition at this time because I know Mother and Father would never forgive me. But don’t think I’m not tempted._


	2. Afternoon tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Evie tracks down the source of some unpleasant rumors.

Writing letters to Cecily was more difficult than Evie thought it should be. Cecy’s letters were a bit understated, but Evie was good at reading between the lines. “This week has been somewhat trying,” for instance, meant “this week has been bloody awful.” “I don’t particularly care for the Storm Coast” meant “I hope I never see its damp, freezing, wretched shores again.” And “recovering after we encountered a particularly aggressive creature” meant “ordered to remain in bed after being almost clawed to death by a demon/giant spider/Darkspawn/other unnamed monster.”  

What was Evie supposed to write back? _I’m sorry about your new set of scars, Cecy. In news from Ostwick, I had the most fetching gown made this week!_

When she mentioned the idea of visiting Cecy in Haven, both of her parents had turned absolutely white and said that they would have the family retainers haul her back bodily if she attempted any such thing. Evie knew they were not jesting, and she had no wish to make them panic in any case. But what sort of person flitted about between parties in Ostwick while their sister risked life and limb to save the entire world?

She couldn’t help but feel that there must be _something_ she could do. Since she did not know what it was, she continued to write letters. 

 

* * *

 

_Dearest Cecy,_

_Under no circumstances are you to let your ambassador assist with Mother and Father’s attempt to make that Arl's son fall in love with me. I met him last month and he is an utter tit. I cannot understand why they think we might make a match. (I have enclosed a sketch. Yes, he is picking his nose, as he did throughout the dinner party we attended together.)_

_These past few months have been filled with this sort of nonsense—this Arl's son, that Bann’s younger brother, all dancing about me trying to decide if the fact that I’m the Herald’s sister makes me a more or less desirable alliance. It is extremely tiresome. I don’t suppose you could have the Inquisition do something scandalous that would make me a social outcast? (I am joking. Mother and Father would be horrified.)_

_Love, Evie_

_*_

_Dear Evie,_

_I sympathize. The games we play as nobility are extremely tiresome. In fact, a distant relative of ours, Bann Dorner, is apparently spreading nasty rumors about the Inquisition. Our Commander suggested that we just leave the man be and let him tire of smearing our reputation, but evidently the talk has become so unpleasant that our ambassador has pulled up stakes and left Starkhaven. I am out of practice with these sorts of things after my years in the Circle (although mages gossip and formed alliances and have rivalries just like any other group of people locked up together for long periods of time)._

_Do not marry anyone who looks at you and sees only “the Herald’s sister.” You may tell your unwanted suitors that I forbid you to marry for anything other than love._

_Your imperious sister, Cecy_

_*_

_Dear Cecy,_

_Well, I could have told you that strategy wouldn’t work on Bann Dorner. I attended a party he threw last month in Starkhaven and the man never tires of hearing himself talk. I have no trouble believing he is behind some of the more unpleasant rumors about your Inquisition. The question is, why?_

_*_

When she saw those words on the page, Evie put down the pen. _That_ is _the question, isn’t it?_

She glanced over her writing desk and her eyes fell on an invitation—one she hadn’t replied to yet. Bann Dorner was visiting Ostwick and his daughter Annaliese had sent Evie a syrupy note inviting her to join an afternoon ladies’ gathering—“tea, sweets, and pleasant conversation,” as she put it. Evie thought Annaliese Dorner was a shallow person with a vicious tongue and she had planned on politely declining. But now she looked at the invitation with new eyes.

She put aside her letter to Cecily and picked up her pen to accept.

 

* * *

 

Two days later Evie was sitting in the Dorners’ parlor wearing her best lavender dress and pretending not to notice as the other ladies gossiped about her behind their teacups.

“Yes, that’s her, the sister of the so-called Herald of Andraste.” This remark was followed by a little giggle.

“I can’t believe she accepted Annaliese’s invitation! As if she could be out among polite company without causing a scandal.”

“I wonder who she’ll marry. Her elder sister is a mage. What respectable family would risk bringing that sort of blood into their line?”

Evie smiled, popped a raspberry tart into her mouth, and fantasized about upending every teacup in the room right onto their silk dresses. There were still some times when she wished for Cecily’s magic.

She made polite remarks about shoes and dresses and Prince Sebastian Vael—unquestionably the most eligible unmarried nobleman in the Free Marches at present—for just over an hour. Then she excused herself, letting them assume she was going to the privy. She knew they would be overjoyed at the chance to gossip about her openly.

Evie did visit the privy, but on her way back she turned down the wrong corridor. She was prepared with an excuse about losing her way should anyone bother her, but no one did. Carefully and quietly, she began opening doors until she found what she was looking for—a study, lined with books and with an official-looking desk in the middle.

The unlocked desk drawers contained several bottles of whiskey and a messy assortment of pens, letter openers, inkwells, and blotting sheets. The largest drawer was locked, but Evie had met Bann Dorner—he was the sort of man who was not nearly as clever as he thought he was. She checked the unlocked drawers for false bottoms. When that proved fruitless she turned to the bookshelves, which were thick with dust. One book—an outdated volume about trade regulations in Antiva—caught her eye. There was a break in the dust in front of it. Sure enough, the Bann had cut out the pages and hidden his key there.

Her heart pounding, Evie unlocked the desk drawer. A stack of papers lay at the bottom of it. Fortunately, she read quickly.

She was halfway through the pile when she heard footsteps outside the door. Frantically, Evie slid the drawer shut, grabbed the key and the papers, looked around the room, and did the only thing she could—she climbed out the window and onto the ledge. Once outside she shut the window, slid over, and stood flat against the outer wall. It was a generous ledge but she still tried not to look down.

 _Please don’t try the locked drawer. Please don’t try the locked drawer_ , she prayed. _And please don’t look out the window._

“Blasted servants,” she heard the Bann mutter. “Can’t be bothered to dust just because we’re not in residence.”

Evie clutched the papers and listened to him open desk drawers. Her heart crashed into her ribs and seemed to beat so loudly that she half thought the Bann would hear it. Finally, she heard him say “aha!” Then she heard a liquid sound. He was pouring himself a drink. Evie was so relieved that she nearly melted into a puddle right there on the ledge.

She heard the door slam again. After a pause she risked a glance in the window. The study was empty.

With a silent sigh of relief, Evie climbed back inside and resumed flipping through the papers. Ten minutes later she was back in the unpleasant sitting room, where her return had clearly interrupted a number of slurs against both Evie and Cecily. Evie just smiled and mentally repeated the most important phrases from Bann Dorner’s documents. There were some quotes that she wanted to get just right.

 

* * *

 

_Dear Cecy,_

_Well, I could have told you that strategy wouldn’t work on Bann Dorner. I attended a party he threw last month in Starkhaven and the man never tires of hearing himself talk. I have no trouble believing he is behind some of the more unpleasant rumors about your Inquisition. The question is, why?_

_As it happened, Bann Dorner’s daughter had me over to afternoon tea today, along with a few other young ladies. It was a lovely gathering, except for the fact that I was only invited so the guests could make unsubtle insinuations about you and the Inquisition. Eventually I excused myself to go to the water closet._

_I’m afraid I got terribly lost and found myself in Bann Dorner’s study, where I accidentally happened upon several interesting documents. I copied a few choice phrases from memory as best I could; I’ve enclosed them with this letter. It appears he is spying on the Inquisition’s operations. Not very effectively, in my opinion, but it still seemed like something you ought to know._

_Love, Evie_

_*_

_Dear Evie,_

_Maker’s breath, I don’t know whether to offer you a job or yell at you for putting yourself in danger. I suppose the Bann could hardly eliminate the Herald’s sister in the middle of his study, but the thought of anything happening to you is unbearable._

_I believe you are going to receive an interesting offer from one Sister Nightingale, who was very pleased with what you sent. I know better than to think I can tell you what to do. So please, please be careful._

_Love, Cecy_

_*_

_To the honored Lady Evelyn Trevelyan:_

_On behalf of the Inquisition’s intelligence-gathering arm, I write with my thanks for the service you did us with your fortuitous wrong turn in Bann Dorner’s Ostwick estate. Should you be willing to undertake any other such activities, I have accidentally written this letter on the back of a list of nobles in the Free Marches whose interest in the Inquisition seems slightly too keen for our comfort. I have also accidentally enclosed a copy of a simple cipher, should you wish to pass on further reports._

_With deepest respect,_

_Sister Nightingale_

_PS—It is likely that your sister will not approve of this letter._

_*_

_Dear Cecy,_

_You fight demons on a daily basis, and you’re telling me to be careful when I attend tea parties? You are lucky I adore you too much to accuse you of hypocrisy. Also, I am always careful._

_Love, Evie_

_PS—I have secured an invitation to Teyrn Linell’s house party next week. Sister Nightingale may wish to know._


	3. A failed mediation

_Crofter: Kindly ensure that our mutual acquaintance receives the enclosed message. If possible, make its delivery memorable._

 

* * *

 

Evie’s first task was to slip Bann Dorner a message— _The Inquisition knows, and is not to be trifled with_ —at Teyrn Linnell’s house party, and in a way that would likely alarm the Bann. Evie snuck into his room while he slept and slipped it into his left boot to show that the Inquisition could reach him anywhere if it chose. Three weeks later, Sister Nightingale wrote with the news that the rumors about the Inquisition had all but vanished.

A series of other small tasks followed. Talk to members of the Marcher nobility to discover which Banns planned to support Prince Sebastian’s enemies in a bubbling feud. Listen and learn which noblemen might be amenable to allying with the Inquisition—and which had secrets that might be worth exploiting. Evie kept her ears open and gathered the information the spymaster asked for; early each morning she copied her reports into the cipher she'd been given and then burned any notes she kept.

She knew she was doing well when she was promoted to a more sophisticated cipher and assigned harder tasks. Finding evidence of a wealthy merchant’s ties to the Venatori. Copying documents proving that a Bann was plotting against the ruling house of Tantervale. Even, on one memorable occasion, gathering proof of an affair between a Starkhaven Lord and a member of the Antivan Crows.

Meanwhile, Josephine provided an excuse for her newly-busy social schedule by sending invitations—delivered directly to the Trevelyans’ front door and addressed to her by name, rather than delivered by raven and addressed to “Crofter”—that she had secured through the Inquisition’s influence. Evie’s parents were torn between delight that their younger daughter was finally participating more enthusiastically in social events and worry that she was so openly associating herself with a cause that so many seemed hostile towards.

“I’m already associated,” Evie pointed out. “Everyone knows Cecy’s my sister.”

That point more or less silenced their most vocal objections. Besides, the Inquisition’s influence was spreading. Families who had ‘accidentally’ omitted the Trevelyans from guest lists were now begging their attendance at weddings and feast days and coming-out balls. Relatives with sons and daughters in the Chantry or with the Templars were even talking to them again, especially after Evie took pains to spread the knowledge that the Inquisition’s Commander had been a Templar Knight-Captain. Apparently the Herald’s sister could not only leave her home without a scandal—she was now a sought-after guest and ally.

Which was how Evie found herself attempting to mediate a squabble between her third (or was it fourth?) cousin Lord Albrecht, her second cousin Bann Stephen Woodville, her aunt Lenora, and her cousin Elise. Josephine’s memorandum had attempted to lay out the complicated issues that seemed to be triggering the feud, ranging from trade routes to disputes over inheritances. But after memorizing the entire document Evie arrived to learn that the _real_ issue was that Stephen and Albrecht, both widowers, had sought Elise’s hand. Elise, however, had declared her intent to marry a Lord’s younger brother.

“It is an insult to your house, Lady Evelyn!” Bann Stephen thundered. “Lady Elise cannot throw herself away on a minor connection.”

“But she _can_ ,” Evie said, feigning confusion. “I mean, she has. So she _can._ ”

“I mean she _should not,_ ” Bann Stephen ground out patiently. Evie managed not to smirk at his annoyance. Bann Stephen had all but cut their branch of the family dead after Cecy went to the Circle; it was hard not to feel smug.

“My daughter wouldn’t marry you even if you bullied her into breaking her engagement!” Lenora snapped.

“She is a foolish girl who needs to be guided by a stronger hand. One you are clearly unable to provide,” the Bann hissed. “Perhaps the Inquisition might persuade her.”

“My Lord, I am happy to mediate for family, but Lady Elise’s marriage is really not the Inquisition’s business,” Evie said tactfully. And it wasn’t. Whether Elise married her land-poor nobleman or one of these two would scarcely affect the growing power of Cecily’s organization.

“It certainly is not,” Lord Albrecht growled.

Those were the first words he’d spoken since arriving, and Evie looked over at him in some alarm. Lord Albrecht was glowering—not at Lenora, but at her.

“You asked this _child_ to mediate our dispute, Lenora. By what right? By her relation to a _mage?_ ‘Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him,’” he thundered.

Evie took a sip of her tea. “My thanks, Lord Albrecht. It has been nearly a week since anyone quoted that passage at me. I was beginning to worry that they had changed the Chant without telling me.”

Albrecht turned almost purple. “This is no jest! Do you deny what your sister is?”

“Of course not,” Evie said calmly. “Do _you_ deny it? She is the Inquisitor, chosen by the Left and Right Hands of the Divine, and she leads a force that grows in strength each day. I would not besmirch her name so lightly if I were you, my Lord.”

"The so-called Herald isa foul creature who defiles our Chantry by her very existence," Albrecht snarled. “I fear nothing from you,  _girl._ Or from your heretic sister." 

Evie set down her tea; otherwise, the saucer and cup would have rattled so loudly that no one would believe her feigned calm. “Then you are an idiot,” she said sweetly. “Lady Lenora, you may tell Elise that while the Inquisition has no opinion on her engagement, her cousin Evelyn is very happy for her. Would anyone _else_ like to insult my sister before I go?”

 

* * *

 

_Dear Cecy,_

_I am afraid I have made an enemy out of Lord Albrecht. I have already written to Ambassador Montilyet, but please tell her how truly sorry I am when you see her next._

_In my defense, Albrecht questioned the legitimacy of the Inquisition and quoted Transfigurations 1:2. So I doubt he was likely to be a friend._

_Love and apologies, Evie_

_*_

_Dear Evie,_

_Please be assured that the unpleasantness with Albrecht was not your fault. He has been in a foul mood ever since the Inquisition refused to help him with a petty squabble. He has also been harassing Inquisition messengers who pass near his lands. Our Commander finally had to send soldiers to accompany them, and there was a rather embarrassing skirmish between our forces and his. No one was hurt, but Albrecht’s men were forced to return to his keep without weapons or helmets. Or, apparently, pants. (I fear the lieutenant in charge has been listening too closely to Sera.)_

_In related news, do you enjoy tourneys? Albrecht has challenged the Inquisition’s best to face his men in the upcoming tourney at Tantervale. I think it would be quite poetic if the Inquisitor’s sister were on hand to witness his defeat, don’t you?_

_Love, Cecy_


	4. The Grand Tourney

_Dear Cecy,_

_I must admit that I do not generally enjoy tourneys. Have you ever actually watched jousting? Or archery contests? They are very dull. However, I believe I will enjoy watching Albrecht lose to the Inquisition. You may count on my presence._

_Love, Evie_

_*_

_Crofter: Painter will be in attendance at the upcoming celebration. Look for an elf with black hair in servant’s garb. Announce yourself by asking for a glass of chilled Ostwick white wine from last year’s bottling. My friend will offer you an Orlesian white from last year’s bottling instead. Decline the offer and say “That was a poor vintage in Orlais.” My friend will then offer you a Starkhaven white, which you should accept._

_Should there be trouble, Painter will call you away by telling you that the Inquisition's people wish to meet you. I anticipate no difficulties, but it is always good to be prepared, yes?—Sister Nightingale_

 

* * *

 

The morning of the Grand Tourney dawned muggy and already overwarm. Evie swallowed her growing annoyance with this trip and chose her lightest gown, a pale blue dress with a boat neck. She asked her maid to help her pin her hair up; it was not precisely fashionable, but Evie could already feel beads of sweat gathering on the back of her neck and knew she would be glad for any contact between her skin and the air.

She had been understating the case somewhat when she told Cecy she did not enjoy tourneys. The truth was, Evie hated them—or, to be perfectly accurate, she had hated them ever since the one she’d attended in Ostwick five years ago. That tourney had been excruciatingly boring right up until the moment she had watched an eighteen-year-old knight tilt against an experienced chevalier. The young man—more a boy, really—had taken a bad fall and broken his neck. All for the supposed honor of—Maker, she did not even remember which Marcher noble they’d been feting that day. _What a bloody waste._

The Grand Tourney, at least, was not meant to bestow glory on anyone except its combatants and winners (and their noble sponsors, of course). Still, Evie lifted a quiet prayer to Andraste that no one would die today. Enough people were dying already in the fight against Corypheus. She was not sure she could bear to watch lives lost for sport.

To Evie’s surprise, the Princess of Tantervale had issued her a personal invitation to stay in her family keep, and to sit with her party in the rulers’ box during the competition—the Inquisition’s influence, no doubt. A member of the Princess’s household came to Evie’s door to see her to the box shortly after Evie was finished with her morning toilette. Apparently the tourney would start as quickly as possible in hopes of avoiding the worst heat of this already-sweltering day.

When Evie reached the box Princess Elinor already in her seat, receiving her guests graciously as she fluttered an orange silk fan close to her cheek. The Princess was a striking woman in her mid-forties, with dark brown skin and black hair that she wore in elaborate braids coiled around her head. Evie made the Princess a deep curtsey when her turn came to be introduced. “Your Highness. Please allow me to express my gratitude for your kind invitation.”

Elinor smiled and motioned for her to rise. “So this is the sister of the fabled Inquisitor! I cannot tell you how excited we are to watch the Inquisition’s forces participate in our tournament, Lady Evelyn.” Elinor swished her fan as she spoke, clearly trying to cool the beads of sweat gathering on her brow. Her eyes appraised Evie with refreshing frankness; the Princess did not bother to hide her interest in a representative of Thedas's fastest-rising military power.

Evie returned the smile. “I share your excitement, Your Highness—and I know the Inquisition is eager to show the skill of its people in front of the Grand Tourney’s distinguished audience.”

Quietly, she wondered what sort of competitors Commander Cullen had sent. Just good enough to defeat Albrecht’s people? Or good enough to sweep the tourney and send an unsubtle message about the Inquisition’s strength? She hoped it was the former. The Grand Tourney was the Free Marches’ most beloved celebration; if a foreign army waltzed into the Tourney and walked away with the top prizes, the assembled Marcher nobility would remember and resent it for years. _Surely Ambassador Montilyet will have put a word in the Commander’s ear about the diplomatic strategy._

Apparently the Ambassador had done just that, or the Commander was more politically savvy than Evie had given him credit for. When the lists were brought in Evie learned that the Inquisition’s people were not entered in the main tourney at all—they were only listed as participating in an “honor duel” against Albrecht’s men. These smaller battles, held between the main events of the tourney, pitted two teams against one another in a joust, an archery competition, and a melee with three fighters on each side.

The morning was devoted to the grand jousting tournament. Evie forced herself to feign interest—and hid her terror every time someone fell from their horse—but it was a fortunate day. A few jousters broke limbs and ribs but none were more seriously injured than that.

Halfway through the morning the monotony was broken when Prince Sebastian Vael entered the rulers’ box. As Evie waited for her turn to be presented to the Prince, she noticed a member of the Princess’s household—a dark-haired elven woman with olive skin who was quietly asking the assembled nobles if she could fetch them some refreshment.

When the servant reached Evie, she pretended to think about it, then asked, “Do you have any chilled Ostwick white from last year’s bottling?”

Surprise flashed in the servant’s eyes. “I’m afraid not, my Lady. Might I offer you an Orlesian white from last year’s bottling instead?”

Evie shook her head. “That was a poor vintage in Orlais.”

The elf nodded gravely, her surprise now concealed. “Perhaps I could offer you a Starkhaven white, then?”

“That will do nicely, thank you,” Evie said with a little smile.

The servant swept away—but Evie barely had time to process the exchange before a Starkhaven retainer gently cleared his throat near her side. It was her turn to meet Prince Sebastian.

Evie stood and stepped to the Prince’s chair, then swept her most elegant curtsey. “Lady Evelyn Trevelyan, daughter of Bann Alexander Trevelyan, sister to Her Worship, Inquisitor Cecily Trevelyan,” the Prince’s retainer announced.

“It is an honor, Lady Evelyn,” the Prince said.

“The honor is mine, Your Highness,” Evie murmured, straightening her knees and trying not to stare. She had assumed all of the rhapsodizing about Prince Sebastian was exaggerated but was forced to revise that opinion now that she had seen him up close. He was indeed extremely handsome and did in fact have absolutely piercing blue eyes. She could not help a smug little thought about how jealous Annaliese Dorner and her friends would be if they knew where she was.

“I am a great admirer of the Inquisition’s work. It is my hope that Starkhaven and the Inquisition will have a long and fruitful friendship.” The Prince raised an eyebrow. “I look forward to discussing plans for Kirkwall with the Inquisitor when she is able.”

 _You may find that discussion less satisfying than you'd hoped,_ Evie thought. The assignments she’d gotten from Sister Nightingale of late seemed to suggest that the Inquisition would be supporting the Kirkwall resistance. But Prince Sebastian didn’t need to know that, so Evie just gave him a bright smile and said, “I know how much the Inquisitor values Starkhaven’s support, Your Highness. I will pass on your good wishes.”

Prince Sebastian murmured something vague but gracious in reply before turning to the next nobleman waiting for his introduction.

With that done, Evie settled back into her seat and fanned herself as vigorously as she dared while waiting for the joust to come to an end. Then, suddenly, a glass goblet filled with white wine appeared at her elbow—and tucked underneath the accompanying plate of sweets was a folded note.

 _The Inquisition's people would welcome a visit from the Inquisitor's sister,_ the note read.

Evie slid the paper into her sleeve and turned to Princess Elinor with a smile. “Your Highness, will you excuse me? The honor bout will begin soon and I would like to give the Inquisition’s champions a favor.”

Princess Elinor nodded with poorly concealed amusement. “Of course, my dear. Enjoy yourself—but do not forget to take a proper escort.” She clearly thought Evie was indulging a girlish fantasy about tourneys. Evie decided not to mind.

“I’m afraid my maid is still in my chambers. Might I borrow your retainer?” she suggested, tilting her chin towards Painter—whose real name, she realized with more than a little embarrassment, she did not yet know.

“Of course. Jenna, would you see Lady Evelyn to the Inquisition’s people?”

Jenna curtsied politely and gestured towards the exit. “If you’ll follow me, my lady?” Her voice betrayed absolutely nothing. She sounded for all the world like a high-ranking servant asked to mind a spoiled young noblewoman.

Evie rose from her chair and trailed behind Jenna, forcing her steps to be even and unhurried. In truth, she wanted to shout at the other woman to quicken the pace.

_I knew Sister Nightingale shouldn't have included that comment about anticipating no trouble._


	5. A forthcoming invitation

Evie followed Jenna out of the Princess’s box and away from the tournament stands. The elf appeared to be leading her towards the tents where the competitors awaited their events. She waited until they were alone on the path and she was sure no one could hear her before she spoke. “What’s happened?”

Jenna paused mid-step and turned around to look at her. Her eyes skipped up and down Evie’s frame and came to rest on her face; the spy appeared to be evaluating her, though Evie did not know for what. There was more than a hint of challenge in Jenna’s expression. Evie suddenly realized how she must look in the elf’s eyes—like a Bann’s daughter playing spy, indulged because her sister was the Inquisitor.

Evie hoped her expression did not betray her nerves. “Are you trying to decide whether I can be trusted?” she asked calmly, and without judgment.

Jenna’s eyes crinkled slightly. “Be assured that I do not question your loyalties, Lady Evelyn. But I was surprised when you were the one who asked me for the Ostwick white. How long have you known our mutual friend?”

Suspicion bubbled in Evie’s stomach. One of Sister Nightingale’s agents would not ask such a question out of idle curiosity. Something was amiss at the Tantervale tourney—and Painter was trying to determine if she was up to the task of helping.

“I first exchanged letters with our friend when the Inquisition was still in Haven,” Evie said carefully. “We have corresponded regularly ever since. She seems to enjoy the gossip I pass along from the Marcher nobility.”

Jenna moistened her lips and pressed them together, then motioned for Evie to continue their walk. They had taken only a few steps before she spoke again, her voice low and pleasant. “This morning I received information indicating that there is a group at the tourney planning to—ah, to invite the Inquisitor’s sister to become their guest. Apparently they will be disinclined to accept a refusal.”

Evie managed to keep her steps even, though she wanted to stumble from surprise. “I see. Who will be issuing this charming invitation?” she murmured, unfolding her fan to stir a slight breeze, pretending that this was an ordinary conversation instead of a lightly coded discussion of her own potential kidnapping.

“Our friends in Tevinter. But they have asked an ally at the tournament to deliver the invitation—a member of the Marcher elite whose identity we do not know.”

Evie frowned. _A Marcher working for the Venatori?_ She had to admit the notion offended her, and not just because of Cecy. Marchers took pride in their independence. It was bad enough to tie yourself to a foreign power, but bending the knee to a Tevinter cult? That was truly appalling.

“They plan to approach you during this evening’s ball. Until we spoke I thought my goal was simply to prevent the invitation from reaching you. But now I wonder if more might be gained.” Jenna looked at her seriously.

Evie’s heart thudded in her chest. _Bait. She’s asking if I will agree to be used as bait._ For a wild moment she wanted to say no. What if they actually succeeded in taking her and turning her over to the Venatori?

But if the Venatori agent remained hidden, who knew what damage they might do—how much further they might spread the cult’s influence before they were stopped? When she thought of what her sister had seen at Redcliffe and Adamant, Evie knew what she had to do.

“I would be very interested to meet someone who knows our friends in Tevinter,” Evie said. “Perhaps we should let them deliver their invitation?”

Jenna nodded serenely. “That was my thought as well. I am glad you agree.”

 

* * *

 

To keep up appearances, Jenna did take Evie to introduce herself to the Inquisition’s champions, who were sitting under the shade in a tent while they awaited their turn to be summoned for their honor duel. The Inquisition had sent a rather motley lot—a handsome blond man wearing full armor, a Tevinter warrior who almost looked younger than Evie, a sandy-haired female elf carrying a brace of knives, a whip-thin man with dark skin who was sharpening an arrow, and a stone-faced infantrywoman who barely glanced up when Evie and Jenna entered their tent.

“Gentlemen, ladies,” Jenna said. “May I present Lady Evelyn Trevelyan, daughter of Bann Alexander Trevelyan and sister to Her Worship the Inquisitor. She has come to wish you luck.”

Evie curtsied to the room as the fighters stood. “You honor us, my lady,” the blonde knight said, sweeping her a very Orlesian bow. “Michel de Chevin, at your service and command.”

“Cremisius Aclassi. Pleased to meet you,” the Tevinter said. “This is Moira”—the bulky infantrywoman—“and Riann”—the elf—“and Samuel"—the archer.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance. You go by Krem, do you not?” Evie asked, smiling at the young man. “The Inquisitor’s letters mentioned the Chargers. She seems quite impressed with you.”

A slight, pleased smile curved Krem’s mouth. The expression was quickly gone, replaced by a warrior’s respectful stoicism, but Evie was glad to see that her sister’s good opinion meant something to the mercenary.

“Well, then. It is customary for young Marcher ladies to give tokens of their approval to favored champions,” Evie announced. With only a bit of embarrassment, she pulled a small bundle of ribbons from her pocket—blue to match her dress. Her mother had insisted on her packing them. “For luck and all that.”

“I cannot help but feel that I ought to decline,” Michel chuckled as he took one of the ribbons. “I will be jousting for the Inquisition but I am terribly out of practice. Alas, I was the best we had. The Inquisition’s Commander does not think much of competitive jousting. ‘Expensive, extremely dangerous, and of little value in combat’ were his exact words, I believe.”

“Commander Cullen sounds like a sensible man. I think I would like him,” Evie said wryly.

“I should hope so!” Samuel the archer replied with a slight smile, taking one of the ribbons as well. “I mean, considering.”

“Considering what?” Evie asked, blinking.

“Considering that he and the Inquisitor are …”

Krem cleared his throat loudly; Samuel's face went slack. “Ah. I’m just talking nonsense. Forgive my big mouth, my lady.” He made her a deep, slightly awkward bow.

“Oh, on account of the fact that they’re courting, you mean!” Evie said brightly.

It was just a guess—but apparently a correct one, since Krem smiled with relief and said, “Oh good. You do know.”

“Of course. The heat is just making me dull-witted,” Evie lied. _Cecy, you secretive little minx!_ “Cecy’s very private, though—if you could keep the news quiet I know the Inquisitor would prefer that.”

Michel nodded gravely. “You have our word, Lady Evelyn.”

Evie did not bother to hide her smile as she and Jenna walked back to the Princess’s box. She had sensed a certain affection for the Commander in Cecy’s letters, but she never would have guessed that they were courting. The knowledge delighted Evie thoroughly. If Cecy had to wade through swamps and snow and red lyrium mazes saving Thedas she should at _least_ have someone to kiss at the end of the day.

Jenna’s voice cut through her pleased reverie. “We will speak again later,” the elf murmured as they neared Elinor’s box. “Make note of anyone who seems to be paying you particular attention. And take this.”

She slid something heavy into Evie’s right hand. Evie glanced down to see a slim silver cylinder, clearly Orlesian in design, etched all around with flowers. _Perfume? Surely not._

“It contains a most _disorienting_ scent,” Jenna explained.

Evie swallowed and slipped the gift into her pocket. “My thanks,” she said, rather pleased that she still sounded calm—at least in her own ears.

_Well. Apparently this ball will be much more interesting than my last._


	6. An eventful ball

Evie donned rather more accessories than usual that evening. In addition to Jenna’s vial of knockout powder, which she slipped into her left pocket, she strapped a small dagger to her upper right thigh along with a set of lockpicks. She also took a moment to slash seams in her skirt and crinoline so she could reach her weapons if need be. Fortunately the Orlesian fashion for wide, full skirts had begun to spread to the Free Marches. She probably could have concealed a broadsword underneath her deep purple gown without anyone being the wiser. It almost made up for the dress’s low neckline. Evie had to exercise all of her self-control not to yank her bodice upward after every step.

The ball that concluded the Grand Tourney was always one of the year’s most extravagant—and wildest—Marcher celebrations. The guest list included not only the wealthy and the noble, but also those who had competed in the day’s events. Half of the fairy tales Evie had been told as a child began with a handsome knight or a beautiful duelist winning the heart of a Prince or Arlessa as they danced at the Grand Tourney’s ball. The reality was not quite so magical, but Evie had to approve of any event that included towers of savories and sweets at regular intervals around the room.

Not a few Marchers came over to congratulate Evie on the Inquisition’s performance after she was announced at the ball. The Inquisition’s champions had defeated Albrecht’s men with ease, prompting a delightful temper tantrum from the minor Lord. Evie found it rather silly that people were congratulating _her_ —as if she could take even a bit of the credit!—but she accepted the compliments graciously and threw in a few effusive words about Commander Cullen’s forces for good measure.

As she danced and sipped cider and helped herself to the food, Evie could not help but notice the gossip that swirled near her.

“That’s her? The Herald of Andraste’s sister?”

“Pretty _and_ connected. It’s a wonder she’s not married yet.”

“I heard Prince Sebastian Vael himself is planning to ask for her hand.”

Evie actually choked on a chocolate truffle when she heard _that_ ridiculous rumor _. Not if he finds out what Cecy’s planning in Kirkwall,_ she thought wryly.

As the evening wore on, Evie noticed that two people in particular kept returning to her side. Lord Liam Hunsden, the third son of a prosperous Tantervale Bann, found seemingly dozens of excuses to engage her in conversation or bring her a fresh glass of wine (each of which Evie carefully upended into the nearest potted plant as soon as his back was turned). He was charming and attentive but seemed only mildly interested in Evie herself; they danced twice and Evie noticed that he did not even attempt to glance at her cleavage. So was he paying her attention because he hoped to make a play for a powerful alliance-by-marriage? Or because he was the Venatori agent?

Evie also found herself frequently crossing paths with Celia Beaufort, who had no title but was the heiress to one of Starkhaven’s largest trading fortunes. The olive-skinned beauty had a witty tongue and was effusive with praise for Evie’s hair and dress and dancing even as she insulted everyone else around them.

“Did you see Annaliese Dorner?” Celia murmured about halfway through the evening when she and Evie met again beside a tray of raspberry sweets. “She must have been mad to wear that gown. Yellow, with her brown hair? She looks like a wilting dandelion.”

Evie giggled sincerely, raising her hand to muffle the noise. “I have not. Point her out if you see her,” she murmured. “Did _you_ spy Bann Stephen Woodville making an absolute fool of himself over every marriageable young woman here? Mark my words, your turn is coming soon.”

Celia laughed. “Oh, I’ve already had the pleasure of dancing with the Bann. I pawned him off on some poor Arl’s niece.” She looked over at Evie with a companionable grin. “How is it that we’ve hardly spoken before tonight?”

“Haven’t you heard? I was quite the scandal until everyone decided that the Inquisition is powerful enough to be respectable and the Herald of Andraste shouldn’t be burned at the stake after all,” Evie said cheerfully. “I must say I rather miss being scandalous at times.”

“Well. You must come stay with me in Starkhaven. Perhaps we can create a few new scandals,” Celia said, her eyes sparkling.

Evie beamed back. “I would be delighted! Next month, perhaps?”

“I shall hold you to that,” Celia said, raising another candy in a playful toast.

Evie felt a flicker of relief—she rather liked Celia and hoped she wasn’t a Venatori spy. But then, if Celia _was_ the Venatori agent, she would not be so clumsy as to insist on taking her away for a visit tonight.

Several minutes later Evie spotted Jenna replenishing a tower of savory pastries. She glided close, feigned indecision about which one she wanted to pick, and quietly reported her suspicions as Jenna worked.

Jenna made a little _hm_ when she heard the names. “I had noticed them as well. Celia Beaufort’s family trades a great deal with Tevinter, but I know of nothing that might lead us to think Liam Hunsden knows our friends. You may need to let them get closer.” She tilted her head subtly towards Michel, who was watching them both from the other side of the ballroom. “The Inquisition’s people will come for you at the first sign of trouble.”

As the spy departed, Evie saw Liam approaching her once more. She gave him a friendly, welcoming smile. _That’s right. I’ve been thoroughly charmed. Feel free to try to kidnap me._

“That Inquisition chevalier hasn’t taken his eyes off you all evening,” the young nobleman said with a frown when he reached her side. His broad, handsome features twisted with dislike as he looked over at Michel. “Someone should have a word with his commander about overly familiar soldiers.”

Evie stopped herself from rolling her eyes—just barely. “It’s not his fault, the poor thing. I suspect my sister asked him to keep an eye on me. They can’t have the Herald of Andraste’s baby sister doing anything that might stain the Inquisition’s reputation.” She tried to put boredom and resentment into those words. If Liam was attentive enough to realize she was being watched, it would be wise to mislead him.

Liam chuckled. “Well. I don’t suppose you would like to elude your minders for a few minutes to join me in the gardens?”

Evie’s heart thudded in her chest. She looked up at Liam and batted her eyelashes prettily. “I believe I would. Meet me at the door—I’ll come once I’m sure I’m not being watched.”

*

Liam was waiting for her at the door to the Princess’s gardens when Evie joined him a moment later, having quietly told Jenna about the invitation. Her stomach was twisted in knots and her pulse was racing; the word _bait_ kept dancing around at the front of her mind in the most ridiculous way.

The young nobleman offered her his arm. “You honor me with your company, Lady Evelyn,” he said.

“The honor is mine, Lord Liam,” she replied, curling her fingers into the crook of his elbow.

 _Bait. Bait. Bait bait bait bait bait,_ her brain babbled.

The two of them walked in silence around the garden, turning through the manicured grounds, moving further and further away from the door. The night air was heavy and muggy, though somewhat cooler than it had been during the day, for which Evie was grateful. She still had to work to ignore the beads of sweat collecting on her brow and running down her back.

“Did you have a favorite event at the tourney?” Liam asked, finally breaking the quiet.

“Oh, the jousting, of course!” Evie lied extravagantly. “It’s so terribly exciting, and I do admire the horses.” That last part, at least, was true. “And you?”

“The melee,” Liam replied. “I’ve always liked swordfights.”

After that, the young nobleman fell silent. He was clearly nervous and Evie began to wonder if she had misread him entirely. Perhaps he really was just a hopeful suitor in search of a stolen kiss.

A crunch of gravel sounded behind her. Startled, Evie released Liam’s arm—and turned to find Celia Beaufort standing behind them.

“Celia! We were just out for a bit of a walk. Do promise me you won’t tell anyone,” Evie said, feigning embarrassment.

Celia chuckled. “I’m afraid I will be telling rather a lot of people, Lady Evelyn. No one will wonder where you’ve gone if everyone thinks you’ve eloped with a Bann’s youngest son.” As she spoke, three armed men moved out of the shadows behind her.

Evie forced herself to breathe; the muggy air suddenly threatened to choke her. “Liam, _run_ ,” she whispered.

When he did not move, she risked a glance over at him—and found him looking at her almost apologetically. “We do not intend to hurt you,” he informed her, stepping back so that he stood between her and any chance of escape.

“Certainly not,” Celia agreed. “Come quietly, Lady Evelyn, and you won’t be harmed. You’ll be returned to your sister as soon as _she_ returns the artifacts her people stole.”

The Inquisition’s people were nowhere to be seen. Evie desperately tried to think of a way to stall. Screaming would just make them take her away more quickly, so instead she turned back to Liam with a haughty, offended sneer. “Let me guess. The Venatori offered to kill your older siblings so you could be the Bann?”

“Of course not!” Liam sounded genuinely indignant. “They just promised me enough money to live as I please. Younger sons in my family get sent to the Tantervale military—I have no intention of throwing my life away in a war.”

Evie turned away before he finished his excuses. “And they’ll have bribed you with coin as well, or trade,” she continued, locking eyes with Celia. “You realize both will be useless if the Venatori achieve their aims and Corypheus takes over Thedas.” Carefully, she slid her left hand into her pocket.

Celia snorted. “Ah, yes, the fabled Darkspawn magister who opened all the rifts. A ridiculous tale meant to hide the real reason for the Inquisition’s return: propping up the pathetic, crumbling Chantry.”

Evie gritted her teeth; her fingers clumsily tried to untwist the cap to the vial of knockout powder without alerting the Venatori agents to what she was doing. “I assure you that Corypheus is quite real. And so is the Inquisition’s political power. What do you think will happen to the Beaufort trading contracts if they condemn you as a Venatori spy?” Inside her pocket, the lid began to twist free. “And the Venatori certainly do _not_ intend to return the Inquisitor’s sister in exchange for a few artifacts. Make no mistake—if you take me to them, my death will be on your hands.”

Uncertainty flickered on Celia’s face. Behind her, one of the armed men let out a frustrated growl. “Enough talk. Let’s take the girl and leave before anyone comes.”

The largest of the three mercenaries stepped around Celia and began approaching Evie. He was a broad-shouldered bear of a man who might have looked like a kind, bearded uncle if not for the unpleasant smirk on his face. When Evie opened her mouth to scream, the mercenary put a hand on his sword. “She said we wouldn’t hurt you if you were quiet. No promises if you make noise,” he said, his voice low and thick with menace.

Evie didn’t have to feign her fear as she shrank away from him. He chortled. “Nothing to say to _me_ , girl?”

He reached out his hand to seize her arm—just as Evie pulled the vial from her pocket, flicked the lid to the ground with her thumb, and flung its contents full in his face.

The mercenary staggered back, choking. A moment later he collapsed to the gravel as the powder deprived him of consciousness. His compatriots drew their weapons and Evie prepared to shove Liam aside and run—but suddenly there were three more figures in the gardens. The Inquisition’s people had arrived.

With practiced ease, Michel dodged the mercenary’s first swing and smashed the pommel of his own blade into his opponent’s skull. Krem slammed his shield into the second Venatori mercenary, knocking him onto his back and out of the fight. Without an opponent to battle, Moira ran forward and seized Celia’s wrists. She twisted them behind the Marcher woman with a disapproving frown, as if the Venatori agent were a naughty child she’d caught stealing sweets.

Out of the corner of her eye Evie could see Liam stepping away, preparing to flee. It was her turn to block his escape; she lunged forward and seized him by the front of his formal doublet. As Liam tried to twist free Evie reached through the slit in her crinoline, pulled out her knife, and leveled it directly at the young nobleman’s stomach.

Her would-be kidnapper met her gaze incredulously. Evie gave him a sharp little smile. “Don’t think I won’t use this,” she said pleasantly, raising the point of the dagger just a hair. “You’ve given me more than sufficient provocation, and my dress is dark enough to hide a few bloodstains.”

Liam’s jaw dropped; he raised his hands and went rigid, apparently trying to assure her that he wasn’t going to run. Krem laughed. “That’s quite a strategic way to choose a ballgown, Lady Evelyn,” he said as he stepped over to bind Liam’s hands.

“Are you all right, my Lady?” Michel asked, his handsome face drawn with concern.

Evie slid her knife back into its hiding place. Now that the danger had passed her limbs were shaking with a mixture of belated fear and intense relief. She tried to breathe deeply—she could not return to the ball so obviously flustered.

“I am, thanks to all of you,” she told Michel. “However did you know to come for me?” She trusted this group, but still, it would not do for Celia or Liam to realize her role in this plot. Best if they thought she had expected nothing, including the rescue.

As she’d expected, no one answered her question. “May I see you back to the Princess’s guest wing, my Lady?” Michel asked with a little bow—a gesture rendered just a bit less elegant by the unconscious mercenary at his feet.

Evie hesitated, her eyes flicking over the Venatori agents. Michel misread the reason for her silence. “I will send someone to stand guard outside your room. You will be safe, I swear it.”

Krem, however, seemed to sense her thought. “Leave this lot to us, your Ladyship,” he said quietly. “The Inquisition’s people will have questions for them, and you should return before you’re missed.”

Evie took a breath. “My thanks, Ser Michel. If you are willing to escort me I would appreciate the company,” she admitted. “But I’d rather go back to the ball.” She flashed her sweetest smile at Liam and Celia, both of whom looked torn between indignation and misery. “There’s no reason for this nonsense to spoil _my_ evening.”

Michel raised his eyebrows and offered her an elbow. “As you say, my lady.”

The first person Evie spied when she slipped back into the ballroom was Annaliese Dorner, who did indeed look like a slightly wilted dandelion in her bright yellow gown. At first Evie thought to avoid her—but then she saw an opportunity. She darted forward and seized Annaliese’s arm.

“You’ll never _believe_ what I just saw in the gardens,” she hissed, as if she and Annaliese were friends who gossiped all the time. “Celia Beaufort and Liam Hunsden were sneaking out of the palace grounds. They must be eloping!”

Annaliese’s eyes lit up in delight; she immediately raised her hand to signal one of her friends, and she repeated Evie’s claim with great glee when the other woman reached them. Half an hour later the rumor was all over the ballroom—effectively quelling any alarm about the missing guests.

Jenna soon appeared at her side with a glass of pear cider. She gave Evie a small, approving smile. “Nicely done, Crofter.”

“And you as well, Painter,” Evie murmured back.

 

* * *

 

_Dear Cecy,_

_My trip to Tantervale was rather boring, as most tourneys are, but the Inquisition performed admirably—everyone said so. They routed Albrecht’s people and he threw a temper tantrum right there in the tournament stands. It was extremely satisfying._

_Now, to more important business. What’s this I hear about you courting your Commander? I am quite vexed that I am only now learning this news!_

_Love, Evie_

_*_

_Dear Evie,_

_I had been waiting to tell you until our courtship was more established, but evidently Cullen was not exaggerating the speed with which barracks gossip spreads (or perhaps I was underestimating your skill as a spy)! Yes, the Commander and I have been courting for approximately three weeks now, although since it’s you I can admit that I have had feelings for him for far longer. I hope you can meet him once this war is ended. I am certain the two of you will be great friends._

_Love, Cecy_

_PS—Did you really imagine that I would not read Leliana’s report on the tourney? I know perfectly well that your trip to Tantervale was not boring. I am a little angry that you placed yourself in such danger. But I am also very grateful—and very proud._

_PPS—The Iron Bull has directed me to tell you that there is a place for you in the Ben-Hassrath if you are willing to convert to the Qun. Apparently Krem’s version of the story impressed him._

_*_

_Dear Cecy,_

_I’m afraid I must decline The Iron Bull’s generous offer. As it happens, I am quite pleased with my current religion—and my current employer._

_Love, Evie_

_PS—I am very proud of you as well, in case that does not go without saying._


End file.
